"Come," ordered Graa. "Perch yourself around the meal to which I've summoned you. I am lordly."

Laura wondered how, exactly, she was expected to perch.

There was no central table. There couldn't be, with guests of such diverse body shape. Promise strode toward what looked like a crystal fish bowl. Graa sat on a metal sculpture shaped less like the branch of a tree and more like the antler of a giant elk. It was hung with baubles that were either ornaments or appetizers. The fourth point of the compass was occupied by a creature like a giant mouse in a wooden cradle next to what looked like a sleeping jaguar. Presumably a pet rather than a guest, since Koen hadn't mentioned a sapient cat. Laura could smell it from here.

There was no chair for Laura, but a table stood next to Promise's fish bowl. The table was chest-high and and two hand-spans across, a perfect copy of the canapé-supporting furniture they used at parties at the UN Embassy. Laura went and stood behind it.

"Good," said Graa. "Welcome. You are now under my shadow."

The Pick ambassador was in even finer regalia than when he'd visited the Embassy. His shoulder pads extended like the eaves of a traditional house, dangling with titanium ornaments. Iridescent enameled gauntlets encased his lower legs, and a gold sheath doubled the length of his beak. Chains and fur stoles wrapped his breast, weighing him down so much that flight must be impossible.

He didn't need to. Other Pick in much sparer costume perched on less elaborate antlers or flapped around the room. A pair of the birds touched down expertly on Laura's little table, holding a flexible basket stretched between their two beaks. The basket was filled with potato chips.

"Surprise!" crowed General Graa. "I am very satisfied with myself. Thank me."

"Thank you," said Laura promptly.

"They're quite good," said the mouse. Fling, "although probably I shouldn't eat so much salt."

"I found them soggy," said Promise. The Metruian slid herself out of her ambulatory exoskeleton and into her aquarium.

Laura was reminded of her royal tangs. Who had been taking care of them? Who would take care of them, once she and Koen were back on Earth, and away from here?

She wished she could sit, or even lean on the table. She hoped Koen came soon with the next course.

"Is there alcohol at this dinner?" she asked.

"Yes," said Graa.

Laura exhaled, but Fling continued. "I thought that was how you'd do it."

"Do what?"

"Force yourself through the thorns of your fear," said the Toxoplasmotic.

"Don't touch the stuff, myself," Promise boomed. "A good way to get yourself pickled, young Zhang!"

With the Metruian now undulating freely in her aquarium, Laura could see she was clothed. A gold-mesh cage of complex topology encased her mantel and silken sleeves extended the apparent length of her arms.

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"I agree," said Fling. "Brain parasites are safer." Her ears pricked. "And my hippocampus reminds me that rodent and primate brains should be very similar environments…but I don't suppose your cultural conditioning would allow you to be interested."

General Graa screeched, beard and crest bristling, padded shoulders up and wingtips crossed over the base of his tail. "Who commands this party? It is I who am the host here! I am regal and resplendent. Look at the fear on the ape's face, the muscular twitches as her instinct to flee wars with her training. Someone brush her hair. And may a bear grab whomever does not supply her with fermented lingonberries."

Ravens flocked to Laura, bearing combs, hot towels, and something like bitter, wine-soaked raisins. She soon felt better, and oddly like a princess. Or maybe she was Alice at the Mad Tea Party.

Thus inspired, Laura turned to the dormouse. Koen had said she'd like her. What was the species name?

"Toxoplasmotic Fling?"

Fling inclined her head, her paper robe rustling.

"So, you're a priest?"

The great, curving ears fluttered. "The God of Uncountable Nipples. All of the embassy are priests of one mystery-cult or another."

Laura was put a bit off balance by the mention of nipples, and forgot what her follow-up question was supposed to be. Instead, she said, "Yes! Yes. You're a mammal. We're both…mammals." She cleared her throat. "That's interesting. You're actually only the second mammal I've met since I've came to the Zogreion. We must have a great deal in common, the two of us."

Huge black eyes reflected the image of Laura's face. "Yes, that is a problem."

Laura plastered on a smile to cover her wince. Another supremely awkward experience. What did she expect, when talking to nonhumans?

"I disagree!" That was Graa, fluttering on his antler. "The Human Embassy has done an admirable job of avoiding clannishness. Aside from that pitiful display by Human Mark, of course."

Laura remembered Graa's heckling. "You mean how he encouraged us to stand next to our closest relatives?"

"Yes. Clannishness. A terrible source of corruption! Bucolics and Sophronisters hiring each other. Metruians and Cancresters share more information with each other than either shares with the Proskelisks, but all three mollusk species band together against other phyla." Graa shook himself. "I am put off. Such behavior is against the spirit of the Convention of Sophonts."

Promise spread and flexed her tentacles. "Now, Graa. You know as well as I do that even the Quotidians, with all their talk of 'equal disgustingness,' are far more likely to work with Successors or Cupolans or the Trench."

Laura had never heard of some of these species. Some she'd only met in the past few weeks. The Proskelisk on the omnibus, and the Bucolic photographer of course. But Sophronisters? Successors, Cupolans, and the Trench showed up sometimes in the news, but Laura couldn't picture one in her mind. There was so much of the Zogreion that she knew nothing about.

"What about the Pick?" Fling seemed excited, tail quivering and feet thumping on the ground. Her eyes were wide and her ears perked. "What about your species, Graa? Would you have been so successful on your accession to the Convention if you hadn't been sponsored and mentored by the Tensors?"

Graa bristled. "The Tensors are robots. I am aggressive."

"Robots who think they're dinosaurs."

Promise spread her tentacles and scintillated. "Hear, hear, Fling. Show him what you've got!"

Fling bounded up from her cradle, teeth chattering. "And you have won the bid to organize first contact with the Parturians. You are just as clannish as everyone else."

The jaguar on the floor twitched, but did not awaken. Laura was beginning to suspect it was drugged.

"Bravo!" said Promise. "I like you, Fling."

General Graa pecked at his perch. "You just like her risk-loving brain parasites."

"That's the same thing!" said Fling.

"Sit back down and have some more potato chips, Fling," said Graa. "I'm no dragon for you to slay."

Fling flicked her ears and snorted. "Oh. Yes, I supposes so. I was looking forward to some danger."

"Be patient," said Graa. "We will soon arrive at the main course."